3 out of 5

Created by: Jack Amiel and Michael Begler

covers season 1

I think we may have the Brits to thank for broadening the acceptance of one-director shows.  And non-22 episode seasons.  HBO certainly had a huge hand in getting us further along the road with Sopranos, proving that premium cable dollars and standards could be leveraged into movie-quality television.  And so: down the road, we can get 10 hours of TV with Clive Owen, directed by Steve Soderbergh.  …Which finds itself mostly in the ‘functional’ territory of the director’s oeuvre, but his keen eye for framing serves the talking heads of TV immensely well and, as Peter Andrews, his d.p. work gives the period focus of ‘Knick’ an appealingly grainy authenticity, dropping us in the uncaring world of 1900s New York or the gloomy, dimly lit hallways of the titular hospital around which the drama focuses.  The purposefully juxtaposed electronic score by constant collaborator Cliff Martinez feels a bit wonky at first – as does the series, which bumps around bloody, graphic surgeries and the brilliant Dr. Thackery’s (Owen) cocaine addiction for several episodes – but as some hazy plotlines develop so, too, does the music seem to find its place as a distant commentator or observer to events, similar to the camera’s eye, and thus similar to our role as viewer.  The production and (seeming) attempts at period accuracy  are impressive and fascinating, but smartly our writers (the creators for 80% of the series) choose not to wallow too much in wringing entertainment out of the relative ignorance of the time – learning about infections, learning about how the body functions – instead including these elements as details to complement a sense of madness that percolates throughout the show.  Similarly, though the placement of the black doctor Edwards (Andrew Holland) causes intense constant racial remarks from patients, and eventually a riot, the creative team combines to dress events up more as a document than a story structured for 60 minutes.  But: this means you truly are relying on the material, the presentation, and the performances to get you through.  And all are absolutely on point.  This still doesn’t quite make the point of the show clear, though.  The impressive avoidance of sensationalism is countered by Thack and Edward’s personal dramas; the sterile period document sometimes feels too clever when we run into the very recognizable tale of Typhoid Mary.  The endpoint is a show that’s pretty damned mesmerizing.  But it tries to have it several ways, as something of an art piece, a historical piece, and a cable drama, and thus often comes out rather unemotive, mirroring Owen’s rarely smiling Dr. Thackery.  Not that I would suggest explictly changing anything, as ‘The Knick’ is essentially another experiment from the director, and I’d rather that than something easily classifiable.  It will be interesting to see if the same creative team (and approach) is used for its second season.